


m&ms, earl grey, and charcoal covered hands

by heartlynes



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gang War, M/M, lots of octavia eating m&ms, murven - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-09 06:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3240017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartlynes/pseuds/heartlynes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(this is an updated summary)</p><p>Octavia spent the last two years in the system. Clarke isn't the one conducting her life. Bellamy hasn't been himself since his mother died. In hindsight, maybe moving to a gang populated town for college wasn't the best idea for any of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i. octavia

Okay, so maybe Octavia Blake was not the poster child for a model childhood, but she had the simplest pleasures. A teddy bear Bellamy stole for her when she was five, chocolate cake when she turned thirteen (which Bellamy bought for her middle school graduation), and M&Ms. Those were her favorite, cheap and delicious.

Everything had been thanks to Bellamy, only four years older than her. Her mom was working minimum wage as a seamstress, and barely had enough to support her two kids. Octavia figured out that Aurora Blake was sleeping with the landlord as rent by the time she was eight. They couldn’t pay hospital bills when they found out she had leukemia, and so the Blake children watched their mother wither and fade.

On her fourteenth birthday, she was thrust into foster care for almost two years following the death of her mother. The nightmares were almost as worse as the living situations.

One lady kept her in a basement for three months straight until Social Security found out. Another couple didn't like the way she played in the mud and locked her in her room for two days before giving her back to the system. Another had a teenage boy, Atom (who the hell names yet kid Atom) who got drunk and tried to kiss her. They returned her for punching him in the face after he pushed her up against a wall (she didn't care if he was hot, no means no fuckers).

The day Bellamy got custody was one of the best in her life. He was twenty now, and the last time she had seen him he was barely eighteen. It soon became apparent that there was nothing left but heartache and nightmares left for them.The Blake siblings wanted to get out of New York as soon as possible, which pushed Octavia to complete High school at sixteen. The youngest Blake hated it anyway. She cried as they passed the town limit, convincing herself that her problems were left in that god forsaken city.

~

Bellamy drove through the sweet smelling woods in a beat up pick up truck towards the town they'd be staying at. He was transferring in his senior year to complete his degree in Political Sciences and had a part time custodian night job already set up. They had both enrolled Octavia Blake barely before the deadline.  Whoever they were, they seemed to let anyone in. It was decided: Octavia Blake was going to start her freshman year at ACU as a seventeen year old.

"What's your major gonna be, O?" he had asked as they drove down the crumbling asphalt. They spent hours arguing, but Bellamy finally caved in and was convinced to take the scenic route down the coast through the forests.

She pursed her lips at the question, which wasn’t unexpected. It was something she had thought about, but pulled up blank every time. Her whole life was filled with worrying and restriction,so she never developed a hobby. No, don't have that much food, we don't know how long this can last. No, we don't have money for new shoes. Tape over the holes. No, you can't leave this basement today. No, you can't stay here.

"Can I major in freedom?"

Bellamy laughed. "Not specifically, no."

Octavia groaned. "I'll declare my major later.  For now, I need to be alive."

Bellamy nodded, and just like that the subject was dropped.

It was hot, the sun heating the inside of the pick up truck nicely, melting the pack of M&Ms (she ate them anyway) they got from a gas station on the way as Bellamy told her to "stop leaning out of the fucking window". She didn't listen. She didn't care. It was nice to be free.

~

After a few days on the road, they finally made it.  Ark, Virginia. It was small, but not small enough for everyone to know each other.  It wasn’t a college town per say, but thats what most of the young adult population were there for. the university was big, but had no dorms, so there was an abundance of apartments buildings with cheap rent. Not cheap enough, however.

The first few months were rough. The apartment had a living room and a kitchenette, and a bedroom big enough to be a closet. It looked like a shitty motel room, but it was home. Bell slept on the couch until he got a job at a local coffee shop in the evening and she got a job in a art supplies store. Between his two jobs and hers, they afforded an apartment with two bedrooms and a living room with a kitchenette.

College was weird, to say the least. She had befriended Jasper Jorden and Monty Green in one of her Chemistry classes. (Or outside of it. They blew something up and they had to leave the room). Jasper was majoring in Biochemical Engineering, and always donned a pair of black tinted safety goggles on top of his black hair.

"The tint makes it hard to see, but it looks badass," he had explained. She had seen him wearing clear glasses while the tinted ones were still on his head before. He was eccentric. “You’re really tiny, should I take them off so you can see?”

Monty was calmer by that much, majoring in Computer Science. The two had the largest supply of weed on campus. He cursed Jasper out in Korean more than once in front of Octavia for getting high without him, to which Jasper retaliated by crying about how he doesn't speak Chinese. Total potheads but hey, no one tried to make her do anything. The three spent nights watching zombies get their heads blown off. Octavia always, always brought the M&Ms.

~

The blonde girl was frantically searching for the right colour pencils in the middle of the store when Octavia tried to help her. She had never seen anyone have a mental breakdown in an art store before but hey, there's a first for everything. After helping the distressed girl find what she needed, which turned out to be a couple rows down, the brunette took her to Jaha Java, where Bellamy was working. They sat at a booth as the blonde (who was only slightly taller than Octavia, take that evolution) drank five cups of earl grey tea in under ten minutes (what the fuck).

"Sorry, I'm a little stressed," the blonde sighed, rubbing her temples. "I'm Clarke by the way."

"I can see that," Octavia laughed before introducing herself. "Care to share why you're so stressed out."

Clarke winced from across the cool counter top, taking the lid off the tea before stacking the empty cup with the others. "I'm double majoring in Pre-Med and Visual Art at ACU."

"That sounds like suicide," Bellamy said flatly, sliding next to Octavia.  She looked at the clock hanging behind Clarke, noticing his shift was over. The sister rolled her eyes, opting to ignore him.

"Ignore my brother. He's a pessimist. I'm at the ACU as well, actually. Freshman, but I haven't declared my major."

Clarke nodded. "Yeah I didn't decide to double until this year, Sophomore that is. My mom wanted me to do Pre Med, but I don't think I'm going to continue to Med school after this."

Octavia frowned. “Are you enjoying Pre Med, at least?”

Clarke shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Are you even thinking of what you might major in?”

Octavia licked her lip. “That’s a story for another day.”

Clarke nodded, not intruding, and got up to throw away her cups.  The brunette shot a look at her older brother, and watched him follow the blonde with his eyes.  They made eye contact before both looking away, Clarke blushing slightly.

"Fuck! I have an art assignment due tomorrow-"

"I'll see you?" Octavia interrupted before the blonde girl could have a mental breakdown. Again. Her thoughts briefly flashed back to memories of someone mentioning art therapy. If anything, Clarke needed therapy from art.

Bellamy rolled his eyes. “Upper class, always got places to be, things to do.”

Clarke looked a little taken aback by the older boy’s words before her eyes burned.  “I’m not upper class.”

“Sure, princess.”

Octavia punched his arm, angry at her brother for acting this way. This was her shot of making a friend who was a girl, for crying out loud. One minute he’s staring at her, the next he’s patronizing her.

“Ignore him.  Bellamy is a Senior is Political Sciences, which is making him grumpy . . .” she tried to excuse his behavior.  Clarke nodded curtly at the brother before turning to Octavia.  She wrote down her number on a piece of napkin before pushing it and running for the arriving bus, throwing a goodbye over her shoulder.

~

Later that night, Bellamy was sitting on the small sofa with her before his custodian job he has every Thursday and Tuesday. Sometimes Wednesdays. This was one of those Wednesdays. His head was back, brown eyes shut.

"Sooo . . ." Octavia starts nonchalantly, drawing out the O. "Saw the way you were staring at Clarke from the coffee machines. She's pretty."

"Shut the fuck up," he groans.

“Was all that being mean your way of flirting with her, because this isn’t middle school, Bellamy. Nineteen year old girls don’t find it attractive when twenty-one year old guys are dicks.”

He threw a pillow at her before grabbing his keys off the table. "I’ll be back around one. Night, O.”

Octavia smiles to herself, opening a pack of M&Ms.

It was then that she decided to make it her life mission to set up Bellamy and Clarke.

 


	2. ii. clarke

Clarke Griffin was a disaster waiting to happen. She sat with her legs crossed on the floor of her apartment, the sketch due tomorrow in front her while she finished the details. Her unoccupied hand was holding her phone to her ear, pretending to listen to her mother on the other end of the phone. Abby Griffin was an amazing women, there was no doubting that.  She was one of the most respected doctors at the Mayo Clinic, wife of the Jake Griffin, and a great mom.  Except for when she stopped being two of those things.

 

Her mom chatted on and on about how great her job at the clinic was going, but Clarke wasn’t listening.  All she could hear was Octavia’s voice in her head, the same words she had been thinking about over and over since she left Jaha Java.

 

Are you enjoying Pre Med, at least?

 

Is she? Not really.

 

“Clarke? Are you even listening?” her mom’s voice in her ear brought her back from her thoughts.

 

“Sorry,” she sighed. “I’m multitasking. I have an sketch assignment due tomorrow and-”

 

Abby scoffed on the other line. “Well if you didn’t decide to double then-”

 

“Yeah I know mom. You’ve said it a million times.”

 

“Don’t use that tone with me, young lady,” the older woman snapped. “Really, Clarke. It’s for your own good. Do you want to be unemployed?”

 

Is it, mom? Is it really for my own good, or yours. Clarke was dying to snap, but she couldn’t. Not when her mom was all she really had left.

 

“Honestly,” her mother sighed after it became apparent her daughter had nothing to say to her. “What would your father think?”

 

That was a low blow. It was her mom’s personal favorite. What would your father think? What would your father think?

 

“I have to go, early morning and all,” Clarke’s voice wavered, hand shook as she clutched the phone. The orchid that she had been perfecting became blurred in front of her.

 

“Okay, sweetie. I love you.”

 

“Love you too,” her voice broke at the end. With all her strength, she threw the phone across the room, watching as it landed on her bed. Or, she thinks it’s her bed. Everything is blurry right now.

 

Clarke tilted her head back, taking deep breaths. In . . . and out.  In . . . and out.

 

What would your father think?

 

Jake Griffin had been killed four months ago in a car accident. He was driving her to the clinic to pick up Abby, when a drunk driver crashed into his side of the car. Clarke could pinpoint the exact moment the life left his eyes, the way she kept holding his hand even though their was no one let to cling to. They had told her he was killed on impact, but she knew they were lying. Clarke Griffin watched her father die.

 

What would your father think?

 

Clarke cried for the fifth time in two weeks.

 

~

 

Clarke sat in the library after her classes with two open textbooks, three pages of notes, and a cup of earl grey tea in front of her. A yellow highlighter was marking her anatomy book, a green highlighter was in between her teeth, and a red one was behind her ear. Fucking anatomy.  She was aware of someone sitting down in the seat across from her, but she was so focused on this chapter that she ignored them.

 

“That’s a lot of highlighter.”

 

Clarke looked up to meet a pair of hazel eyes, smiling at the sight of Octavia. She was wearing a maroon tanktop and a black windbreaker (inside?), but still managed to look like she stepped out of Aphrodite’s closet. Normally, Clarke had problems with girls like that, but Octavia was different. She was a kindred spirit, very down to Earth.

 

“You’d be really cool to draw, you know?” Clarke blurted without thinking. It was a habit. She saw something appealing, and she had to draw it. Octavia grinned.

 

“I’d like to think so. Do you carry your drawings around?” The blonde nodded, hiking her heavy bookbag from the floor to the table top. After a few moments of digging around, she produced her spiral notebook. The inside wasn’t lined, instead filled with thicker paper for drawing.

 

Octavia flipped through the drawing with close precision. An earbud hung out of her left ear, and Clarke could hear a incoherent rhythm from across the room, the song too muffled to recognize.

 

“Hey Tavia do you . . . woah,” a lanky boy with a pair of safety goggles came up behind the petite brunette. They both stared at the drawings, mesmerized. Not knowing who this kid was, and felt uncomfortable with him fawning over her work, Clarke cleared her throat. The boy looked up, eyes wide and filled with energy.

 

“These yours? They’re awesome!” he exclaimed. “I’m Jasper, by the way.”

 

“Clarke,” she stuttered, not used to all the attention revolving her art. Another kid walked up behind Jasper while she tried to sort out what was going on.

 

“There you guys are! Thanks for ditching me by the way . . . woah.”

 

“That’s what I said!” Jasper and the new guy did some complex best friend handshake.

 

Octavia laughed. “Sorry if we’re making you uncomfortable, Clarke. These are just so awesome! When did you start drawing?”

 

Ah yes, talking about art. Clarke’s forte. “When I was eight I think. I made my mom buy me a lot of coloured pencils because I didn’t like how I couldn’t draw detail with crayons.”

 

Octavia grinned. “So the anxiety surrounding pencils started young, huh?”

 

“Oh my god, that was one time!”

 

The two boys looked very lost, and the brunette seemed to notice.  “Oh, sorry. Jasper and Monty, this is Clarke. Clarke, this is Jasper and Monty.”

 

The new kid, Monty, smiled brightly. “Hiya.”

 

Clarke relaxed. “Hello.”

 

The two kids sat down next to Tavia (Jasper had called her that, so the blonde supposed it was acceptable), and Monty leaned forward. “So lets start off with an icebreaker. Everyone go around and say how old they are and what they’re studying.”

 

Clarke laughed. “Didn’t we stop the whole icebreaker thing in the tenth grade.”

 

Monty rolled his eyes. “You’re no fun. As punishment for being a buzzkill, you have to go first.”

 

“Fine. I’m nineteen, a sophomore, and I’m double majoring Pre Med and Art.”

 

Jasper lifted an eyebrow. “Those are like, the complete opposite things.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Okay then.  I’m Jasper, and I’ve been sober for about two hours,” Clarke thought it was an AA joke, but no one laughed. “I’m a freshman, nineteen, and I’m majoring in biochemical engineering.”

 

Clarke nodded. “Did you take a gap year?”

 

Jasper and Monty grinned at each other. “We took two.”

 

“Fair enough,” Clarke wished she had taken a gap year, but her mom frowned upon the idea so heavily that not even her dad could get her to loosen up.

 

Monty was up next. “I’m also a freshman, nineteen, and I’m here for computer sciences.”

 

Jasper nodded. “And the weed.”

 

“And the weed.”

 

“What?” Clarke asked. “You know what, nevermind. Not my problem.”

 

The duo grinned at each other. “I like her.”

 

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Weirdos. Fine, I’m Octavia, and I’m a seventeen year old majorless freshman.”

 

“You’re seventeen?” Clarke nearly yelled. The librarian shushed her from around the corner, eyeing her tea.

 

“It’s empty,” Clarke snapped in a stage whisper. She waited until the old lady walked away. “I don’t like her. Anyway, what?”

 

Octavia shrugged. “Finished high school at sixteen.”

 

“Why?”

 

Octavia grinned, repeating her words from last night. “That’s a story for another day.”

 

~

 

Jasper and Monty left at 4:00, something about “not wanting to miss 4:20” (Octavia slammed her head against the table. “This is not how you make good first impressions, idiots” she had called after them. “And I thought I didn’t have people skills.”)

 

Clarke was walking the smaller girl to her job at Dropship Art Supply (it was getting darker, and she didn’t want her alone).

 

“You know, I could have walked myself. I’d be fine,” Octavia protested. Clarke was slightly amused, but not by much. Didn’t Tavia know?

 

“Not through this part of town at night. Grounders.”

 

“Grounders?” she could feel the younger girl’s confusion.

 

“They’re a gang, more of a tribe if you ask me, that makes up about a third of the city. Maybe you’ve seen them? Darker skin for the most part, lots of tattoos. Harder looking. Some go to ACU, some don’t. There’s one in my Visual Arts course. Some were born here, some come from Tondc, which is a few miles from here. Some come from closer to the coast. Anyway, they’ve had a history of violence with those who aren’t one of them, and you are a slip of a thing.”

 

The girl was shocked into silence, a small “oh” escaping her lips before a firm look hardened her face. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

 

Clarke nodded. “I’ll see you around then?”

 

Octavia looked up, realizing they had reached her work place, and nodded. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

 

~

 

She didn’t own a car. This place had a number of busses: busses going in and out of the town, busses going across town, etc. Clarke sat down at the bus stop in front of Jaha Java, next to a taller boy with a mop of dark hair and a leather jacket, but she didn’t take much notice of him. He was on the phone with someone, anyway.

 

“Yeah, yeah. I want to know when I’ll get my truck back . . . Few days? Okay. . . . Thanks.”

 

He sighed as he hung up on the phone, and Clarke swore she recognized the voice before looking up. He had the same narrow bridged nose as Tavia, and the same cheekbones, if you looked close enough. She had an infuriating brother . . . what was his name?

 

“Like something you see, princess?”

 

Right. Bellamy.

 

“In your dreams. Just recognized you.”

 

Bellamy smirked (people don’t smirk, but how else does Clarke describe the pull of one side of his lip and the small breath he releases?). “Glad to see I make an impression.”

 

“You look like her, you know?” Clarke said, without thinking. He seemed to know who she was talking about, though. It was in his eyes, the way they softened whenever he looked at his sister. Just something she noticed last night.

 

“You have the same nose. The same cheekbones, too . . .” the blonde trailed off when she noticed she had the urge to touch said cheekbones (what the fuck is wrong with you Clarke).

 

“Oh,” Bellamy nodded, before smirking (what the fuck) again. “You seem to notice a lot about my face.”

 

“It’s an artist thing. I catch detail quickly,” Clarke replied dryly. He rolled his eyes (did he just mutter “sure you do”?) before checking his phone, the light from it illuminating his face for a second.

 

“Breaks over. Have a good night, princess.”

 

“Wait,” she stopped him as he stood up. He was even taller with her sitting down (dammit mom why did I inherit your shortness), quirking an eyebrow. “Have Octavia tell you what I told her. It’s important.”

 

He looked confused. “Why can’t you tell me now?”

 

“The bus comes in less than a minute and you have to get to work.”

 

“Fine, princess. Stay dry, I think it’s going to rain.”

  
For some reason, his concern warmed her up in the chilly night. Sure enough, it started raining on the bus. Yet even as she walked the two blocks to her spacey apartment, teeth chattering and clothes drenched, she wasn’t really cold. Bellamy Blake was such an ass half the time, she almost wanted to know the other part of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this was better than the first chapter (thank god). this is getting some good responses given it's been up for a day. super pumped for this plot to kick off, introduce some new characters and what not. this was updated really quickly, I know that, and it's because I'm currently sick so I've had time. I'll see how fast I can update when I get back to school. tell me what you like, what i should work on, what you want to see from the plot? I think imma introduce a grounder in the next few chapters *wink wink*   
> songs I listened to for this chapter:   
> "I Am Not A Robot" Marina and The Diamonds   
> "I Wanna Get Better" Bleachers  
> "It's Time" Imagine Dragons  
> "Cardiac Arrest" Bad Suns  
> "Anna Sun" Walk the Moon
> 
> xx heartlynes


	3. iii. octavia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> if you guys haven't already figured out:  
> this isn't a happy show  
> i don't think happy things  
> this will not be a happy fic
> 
> i do not own The 100 or any of its characters.

Octavia Blake glared up at the acrylic paints. It was too high up to reach, and the step ladder was all the way across the store, by the canvases where she needed them to reach the ones the customer needed. He was a older, thin looking man. He radiated an uneasy welcomeness that had Octavia itching to crawl out of her skin.

 

“I’m sorry, but do you think you could possibly . . .” the girl trailed off, gesturing with her hands to the paint. He smiled (cringe), and took down the yellow paint without a problem.

 

“That will be all, Ms. Blake,” Octavia was extremely creeped out by how he knew her name, but then realized she was wearing a fucking name tag, pinned onto her tanktop. The uniform here was nearly non existent, although she did wear an apron (the type that wrapped around her waist and not her neck). It was old and used, splattered with ink and paint stains, and smelled like . . . well, paint.

 

“Okay then, Roma can ring you up at the counter,” the redhead gave her a look from where she stood behind the register that read _‘this guy creeps me out too and so help me God you did not just tell him my name’_. Octavia shrugged, tapping the name tag on her chest. Roma’s glinted in the fluorescent light.  After Hannibal Lector left, she went back to shelving things. They got in a new supply of charcoal, more spraypaint, more poster paint . . .

 

Octavia rounded the corner to where the spray paint was locked behind clear glass, with tape labels reading ‘ **please ask an employee for assistance** ’, when she first saw her.  The woman had to be almost a half foot taller than her, features hard and sharp. She was wearing a leather overcoat, eyes surrounded by black eye shadow that added to the ‘ _I will kill you with my eyes_ ’ look. Her hair was brown and wavy, pulled back by a few braids. Octavia knew exactly who this woman was. The Grounder woman was frowning at the spray paints, right in front of the ones she needed to restock. Mustering up any courage she could, she walked next to the terrifying lady. “Excuse me.”

 

Grounder Lady swiftly turned her head to look down at her. Octavia had always been small, barely standing 5”3 and had a spine that showed when she bent over. However, she had never felt as tiny standing before this woman. Glancing down at the coat, she saw the name ‘ _Anya_ ’ embroidered in red thread right over her heart. Anya scanned Octavia, looking over her head to toe. She grunted once, before stepping aside.

 

Octavia forced herself to stand up tall and not shake, with a confidence she didn’t know she had, as she unlocked the sliding glass to the spray paint bottles. The cardboard box sounded like an atom bomb in the uncomfortable silence between the two of them. Quickly, trying not to keep Anya waiting, she placed the red paints in a row. She moved on to the blacks, completely the reshelving in record time, before turning back to the Grounder. “Did you need anything?”

 

“One red, one black,” her voice was harsh, assertive. Octavia inferred she was either highly respected, in charge, or that all Grounders talked this. She stood on her toes, quickly grabbing what the woman needed before locking the glass again, abandoning the cart momentarily to walk back to the register. Roma was nowhere to be found, probably flirting with some art student, leaving the brunette to ring Anya up.

 

“I haven’t seen you here before.”

 

The statement startled Octavia, who wasn’t expecting Anya to even bring up anything else. Naive as she was, she nodded.

 

“Came in for college. You know how it is,” Octavia wasn’t a Grounder specialist, hell she didn’t even know what a Grounder was before Clarke told her to be wary of them. However, she did think it wasn’t in her best interest to give a lot away about herself. Anya grunted in reply, pulling out a twenty dollar bill before she could even tell her the total. This wasn’t her first paint run, obviously. Wordlessly, she handed her the change. The Grounder lingered for a moment before nodding her head, once.

 

“Octavia.”

 

Anya was out the door before Octavia could even process the dangers of having a name tag.

 

~

 

Octavia was especially wary of walking home alone now that: a. she knew about Grounders, b. Grounders knew about her, and c. she had next to no muscle to fight back if someone grabbed her and tried to slit her throat. The thought alone had her shaking as she pulled on her windbreaker and set out to walk the couple blocks in the rain. While the jacket did infact keep her dry, it did nothing for the cold. She shivered, partly from the chill the rain brought and partly from fear. Tonight was not the night she was going to die. Tonight was not the night she was going to die.

 

Every now and again she would hear something behind her, causing her to speed up. By the time she got to Jaha Java, she was nearly running. The bell above the door chimed as she walked in, and Bellamy looked up from where he was making a latte from behind the counter. She noticed she was five minutes early. Octavia sat at the counter, closer to where her big brother, her protector of the bad things, was working. He frowned, the type that reached his eyes.

 

“You okay, O?” he asked after handing the drink off to a stressed looking student. She shrugged, opting not to tell him in a crowded coffee shop.

 

“Does it have something to do with what Clarke told you to talk to me about?” Octavia nodded, then grinned. _Finally, a different topic. Clarke_.

 

“So, you saw Clarke?” Bellamy rolled his eyes at what his sister was insinuating.

 

“Not like that, Octavia. She was waiting for the bus and I was on break, calling about my car. It broke down, so we’ll have to manage with walking and the bus for two days.”

 

Octavia paled. She didn’t want to have to walk those terrifying two blocks, or walk anywhere anymore to be honest. The lingering paranoia of Grounders lingered in her mind. She made a mental note to have Bellamy pick her up from now on. She talk about it when they got home.

 

“O? Seriously, what’s wrong?”

 

The youngest Blake shook her head. “Later. Still, you saw Clarke. When are you getting married.”

 

Bellamy glared at her. “Octavia, _shut up_. If anything she’s annoying. Can’t deal with over privileged princesses like her.”

 

A girl with a playful gleam in her eyes and a long black ponytail walked up beside Bellamy. She was intimidating, but not like Anya. She was intimidating in the ‘ _if you insult me I will cut you_ ’ way. “Blake, are you talking about the blonde you were staring at the other day? You know, the one that made us run out of earl grey?”

 

Octavia grinned. “That’s the one. I’m investigating into their little chat earlier today.”

 

Raven laughed and turned to Bellamy. “This is your sister right? I like her.”

 

“The one and only,” Bellamy groaned, busying himself with a drink. “Don’t you have work to do?”

 

“Kiss my ass, Blake. I’m _tired_.”

 

“From coming in late because you’re off with Murphey?”

 

“From being at the shop all day, fuck face.”

 

“Okay!” Octavia interrupted. “Bellamy, isn’t your shift over?”

 

Her brother sighed, looking at the clock. It was, indeed, time to go. He mumbled something along the lines of ‘I’m going to clock out’ before disappearing in the back room. The two girls were left in a comfortable silence.

 

“I’m Raven, by the way. Raven Reyes.”

 

“Octavia. You go to ACU?”

 

Raven smiled, as if she had said a funny joke. “Nah, can’t afford that. I fix cars all day, though. I’m good,” she got a far away look in her eyes, one that people only got when they talked about something they loved. Octavia saw it in Bellamy when he talked about humanitarian studies. She saw it in Clarke when she talked about art, but never about medicine. She saw it in Jasper when he talked about radioactive isotopes, and Monty when he showed her HTML work.

 

“Are you fixing Bellamy’s car?”

 

“Nah, I think Wick is on that. I’m fixing an ancient BMW right now. It’s on its last leg, but I can do it.”  
  


“I bet you can. I bet you can do anything.”

 

Raven grinned. “I have a feeling we are going to get along just fine.”

 

~

 

Later, Octavia sat on the couch with her brother. He was eating leftover Chinese out of the box as she complained about how Jasper blew something up in the lab (again). He seemed a little lost in thought, staring at her as if making sure there were no cracks in her porcelain composure.

 

“Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you now,” he interrupted her mid sentence. Octavia huffed, before deciding it was an unavoidable topic. She started off with telling him about Grounders, who they were, what they looked like. He didn’t seem fazed until she mentioned their tendency towards violence. Her voice shook as she recounted her encounter with Anya, who now knew her name.

 

He held her as she shook. Octavia Blake had grown calloused over the years, covering up her vulnerability with a strength Bellamy could only imagine. She never cried infront of people anymore, afraid of who is going to lock her away in the next basement, metaphorical or not. But this was Bellamy, this was the Bellamy who got suspended for punching a kid who called her ugly when he was thirteen and she was nine because he didn’t want her to think bad things of herself. This was the Bellamy who held her as she cried when her mother went off on another drunken yelling match with some hallucination of their absent father. And so she cried, not just because she was scared and _fuck, was she scared_.

 

She cried because she watched her mother deteriorate and couldn’t stop it. She cried for the father who left as soon as her mother told him she was pregnant with her, who didn’t want to even know her. She cried for being locked up in a basement for two months, or being locked in a room for two days, or being thrown in a closet until they opened the door because she had a panic attack. She cried because she didn’t see her big brother for two years. She cried because she forced herself not to for all those things. Bellamy whispered in her ear and she curled into his chest, stroking her hair the way he did when she was thirteen before she was ripped away from him.

 

“I’m scared, Bell,” she whimpered once she had calmed. He nodded, knowing there was nothing he could say to make her feel better. But dammit, he was her brother so he had to say something that pushed away her demons, at least for now. So he said what he said to her the day she was born, and what he tried so hard to live up to seventeen years later.

  
“ _I won’t let anything bad happen to you Octavia, **I promise**_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this took like three hours to write. my computer enjoys shutting down on me and updating without asking. anyway, it's the first chapter that I feel has potential. I'm really glad so many people seem to like it. I didn't think this would get that much attention. please bare with me for the beginning, the plot is finally kicking off and I think my sickness has finally worn off. i don't know if I'll update tomorrow (school and all). thank you all for the support.  
> also, Anya has been introduced. I know people are waiting for Lincoln to jump out of the bushes and making out with octavia. all in good time, friends. all in good time.   
> songs i listened to for this chapter:  
> "use somebody" lorde  
> "breezeblocks" alt-j  
> "head.cars.bending" the 1975  
> "for my help" hayden calnin (seriously this is a gr8 linctavia song 10/10 would recommend for tears)


	4. iv. clarke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so it is currently 1:38 AM and I just finished writing this. it's emotional.

The Law of Conservation states that energy can not be created or destroyed, only recycled and transformed. Nothing really has a beginning. However, it was currently 7:25 in the morning, Clarke’s fourth cup of tea, and the beginning of the long, busy day. So basically, fuck science and all the English majors discussing their Philosophy assignment. This was no time for a nirvana-esque outlook on life (nirvana esque. it is too fucking early for this). Also fuck anatomy.

 

Her teacher was young and handsome enough for the girls to giggle whenever he put assignments on their tables, but not handsome enough for them to unbutton their shirts to the bottom button. He was handing back a graded test when she walked into the room, and Clarke knew she should have bought coffee instead (although she hadn’t bought coffee in four months) (but it’s still too early to even attempt thinking about this). She sat on the cold stool and awaited her fate. He gave it to her face down. _Fuck_.

Mr. Jackson gave her a sympathetic look before walking away. _**Fuck**_.

 

53% was circled in red on the heading of her multiple answer quiz. Head throbbing, she shoved it into her binder. The question Octavia had asked her the first time they met in Jaha Java echoed in her head again.

 

_“Are you enjoying Pre Med, at least?”_

No. But Clarke knew the repercussions of dropping the major, and she wasn’t ready for the consequences. It was bad enough she refused to go to Harvard, like her mother had wanted. She hated the idea of a city, especially after the death of her father this summer. Ark, Virginia was surrounded by a forest, a beautiful one. It was the escape from the conversations with her mother’s doctor friends, the way she sounded so proud when she answered all of Clarke’s questions for her. No, she couldn’t drop Pre Med, not when her mother was all she had left.

 

The October air finally started to cool, the rain becoming less frequent. She sat outside of the library, cross legged on the grass. Her bag rested on one of her legs, but she was more delved into her sketchbook. Her most recent task being to “ _draw a portrait of someone you don’t know very well_ ”. She supposed she didn’t know Octavia very well, but she had started to become quite the constant in her life these past few days. It had been three days since she told her to be cautious of the shadows in this town, something Clarke had to learn after being mugged, and the pair often spent the afternoon in the Library. Octavia would flick through Clarke’s sketches or babble about movies from the 80’s while Clarke would study.

 

“Soaking up the sunshine, princess?” Clarke glanced up as Bellamy’s shadow engulfed her.

 

“I was, until you moved in front of it.” Bellamy plopped somewhat ungracefully onto the grass next to the blonde. He had stopped by every so often to see Tavia, and had assigned Clarke a ridiculous nickname. Princess. It wasn’t like they even knew each other very well . . .

 

“Bellamy! I need to draw you!” He seemed somewhat surprised by the sudden outburst of excitement from the girl next to him. She had this light in her eyes that made his stubbornness waver slightly before he built it back up again.

 

“Sorry, princess. I don’t do modeling for free.”

 

Clarke glared at him, somehow still maintaining the playful glint in her eyes. “I’m not gonna _pay_ you,” she sighed. “I really need to pass this class.”

 

The Blake brother shrugged, laying back on the grass with his hands behind his head. He grinned at her as his eyes closed. “Find someone else.”

 

The blonde was about to say something, before realising he was in the exact position she could draw him in. If he knew this, he would move; she was sure of it. She sighed dramatically, for effect. The lie came easy: “Fine. I’ll work on some other stuff.”

 

He grunted in reply, not opening his eyes or moving. Clarke had to push down the laughter she felt bubbling in her chest. The quick sketch took almost no time, as she could work on the final details somewhere she wasn’t afraid of him waking up and ruining it. Glancing back and forth, she found herself proud of her work. If he wasn’t enjoyable to talk to, he was at least enjoyable to draw. His eyelashes cast small shadows on his sharp cheekbones, and his curls hung into his face. How could she just notice that he had freckles dusted across his nose like a galaxy, the way his muscles stood out- snap the fuck out of it Clarke. Shockingly, he was enjoying the sun enough that she had time to finish the details on him and work on the grass that was spread around him. By the time he rose up, she was putting on the last touches of a dandelion that was by his left hip.

 

“Enjoy your sketch time?”

 

“Yeah. I got a lot done.” _More than you could guess, Bellamy Blake._ Clarke shrugged on her backpack, leaving the sketch open in her lap. If he didn’t notice it then she wouldn’t care, but she wouldn’t mind if curiosity pulled his gaze down either. It ended up being the latter.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

 

“Hey, in my defense, you literally set yourself up for it. You sat still in the grass for ten minutes with an artist who you told not to draw you.”

 

“Why would you  . . .” he breathed out. “Fine, you win. Can I just . . .” Bellamy didn’t complete his sentence, just grabbed the booklet and stared at the sketch.

 

“Loathe I am to admit it, this is really good,” he relented. Clarke smiled, more to herself and definitely not because he just called her drawing of him good.

 

“Am I going to get an A then?”

 

“Yeah,” he flashed her a smile, and _fuck he had dimples_. “I would say you would.”

 

~

 

Clarke had just gotten off the phone with her mother, resisting the urge to throw it against a wall (she had been doing a lot of that lately), when Octavia called.

 

“Hey Clarke! We have a proposition for you.”

 

The blonde pushed her hair out of her face. “Who is ‘we’?”

 

“Me, Jasper, and Monty.”

 

Clarke laughed. “Of course. What is this proposition.”

 

“So Jasper knows this bouncer at this club across town. We could get in no problem.”

 

Sighing, Clarke thought back to the conversation she had just had with her mother. _“53%? Honestly, Clarke. I had thought better of my daughter.”_

 

“I’m in.”

 

“Good,” she heard Octavia laugh on the other end. “Because we’re sitting in Jasper’s car outside and we weren’t going to take no for an answer.”

 

~

 

Octavia had flew into Clarke’s room at lightning speed after she opened the door. In under five minutes, she had coaxed Clarke into smokey eye make up and a grey crop top with skinny jeans. Fishing out a pair of boots, Octavia finally stepped back to admire her work. “God, why do you wear so many sweaters? If I’d have a body like yours, I’d flaunt it all day.”

 

Clarke rolled her eyes, the blue popping in contrast to the black of her eyeshadow and alabaster color that was her skin tone. Octavia was wearing a tight tank top and a pair of shorts, a flannel going down to the middle of her thighs. “Don’t say that. You’re beautiful.”

 

Jasper honked outside, and with a deep breath, Clarke climbed into the backseat with the small brunette.

 

“Lookin good, Clarke,” he winked. Clarke laughed him off, the smile turning into a frown as she noticed Monty’s uncomfortable expression as he gazed at Jasper. Pushing it into the back of her mind, the blonde sang off key with the others as they sped towards this club.

 

~

 

Jasper cheered, bringing over a plate of shots to their booth in the corner. Octavia grinned, Monty clapped, and Clarke grabbed one and downed it before the goggle clad boy could set it down. Jasper glared playfully from next to Monty.

 

“Woah Clarke, bad day?” Monty laughed from her left, downing one himself.

 

The blonde grabbed a second, clinking with Octavia before downing it. It burned going down her throat, but she savored the feel of something other than stress and confusion. The tiny glass was placed upside down next to the first. Clarke laughed.

 

“Who the fuck cares,” she said loudly over the music. All around them were sound machines throbbing to the beat of the bass, bodies writhing and grinding on the dance floor, and the scent of alcohol. Monty swatted her hand away from grabbing a third shot.

 

“Let us have a turn,” he whined. Octavia reached for a second, and it was Clarke’s turn to do the swatting.

 

“Try not to get shitfaced, Tavia. You’re seventeen.”

 

Octavia looked Clarke dead in the eye before downing the second, then a third. “You’re not my brother,” she giggled, standing up. She stumbled towards the dance floor, energy radiating from her. Jasper stood up.

 

“I’m going to follow her and grab a beer.”

 

Monty frowned into his shot, the fourth one. He downed it, and then a fifth. Clarke stopped him before he took the last one. “Woah, slow down there buddy.”

 

 _Guess I’m driving_ , she thought. Monty glowered at her with such an intensity that her hand retracted. He stared out into the crowd, a mix of anger and pain taking over his face. Clarke followed his gaze, finding herself looking at Jasper. He had a drink in his hand, and a pretty dark haired girl in front of him. He laughed at something she said, and bought her a drink. Monty reached for the last shot and downed it, not taking his eyes off the interaction. Jasper took her hand, pulling the girl onto the dance floor.

 

Monty turned away, sharply taking in a breath before getting up. Unsure of what to do, the blonde followed him up to the counter, where he ordered three more shots. Clarke ordered a coke, and smiled as the man told her it was free as she was driving. Kanye West’s “Mercy” blared as she cautiously observed Monty. His fists were clenched so tight that his knuckles turned white. His bangs hung in his eyes, and he pushed them away from his face revealing his red eyes. She was about to ask what had upset him when their drinks arrived.

 

She sipped cautiously at her coke, watching the distraught boy. He downed a shot, eyes squeezed tight. A tear escaped from the corner of his almond shaped eyes, but she wasn’t sure if it was from what upset him or the alcohol. After the shots disappeared, he stood up, looking a little sick. He mumbled something about needing air before sprinting from the bar. Her first instinct was to follow him, but she hadn’t seen Octavia in a while and was worried.

 

She was dancing with herself, spinning in circles. She bumped into a man with brown curly hair and a venomous smirk that screamed ‘ **CREEP** ’, so Clarke tapped her arm. Octavia stopped, looking at the blonde quizzically. The man walked away.

 

“Something’s wrong with Monty. He had like nine shots and ran out. I’m going to go check on him.”

 

Tavia nodded. “I’m going to go get a drink. Where’s Jasper?”

 

Clarke nodded to where Jasper was dancing with the dark haired girl from earlier. He was smiling, but he also seemed a little awkward. He wasn’t the smoothest around girls, but this one was sticking around.

 

“I’ll text you when we’re ready to go,” Octavia shouted over the music before sauntering off towards the bar.

 

The music followed Clarke outside, muffled as the door to the club closed. It was colder than inside, where the body heat had warmed her cheeks. Now, she really wished she had a jacket. Monty was sitting on the curb, head on top of his knees. They didn’t speak as she sat down next to him, staring across the street. There was a closed tennis court, the gate locked with a padlock. It looked like it hadn’t been used in decades.

 

“Hey,” Clarke nudged her friend with her shoulder. “You okay?”

 

It was said so softly, she was hoping to coax Monty out of his reverie. He didn’t speak for a moment, his eyes unfocused. They closed for a moment, he breathed in, breathed out. When he finally opened his eyes, tears fell down his face.

 

“We’ve been best friend since we were five, you know? I don’t really have a memory without Jasper,” he swallowed thickly. “I don’t know when it started but . . . all of a sudden it was there and I . . . he always . . .”

 

Clarke wrapped her arms around him in a hug, shushing him as he sobbed violently into her shoulder. “It’s okay, Monty. You don’t have to say it if you don’t-”

 

“I love him!” he cried loudly. “I _love_ him!”

 

They must have looked insane, the two of them hugging in front of a club, him crying his lungs out. It didn’t matter then, what mattered was that Monty was hurting.

 

“It’s okay Monty . . .”

 

“ _I love him_ . . .” he trailed off, his sobs ceasing. “I _love_ him.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BELLARKE MOMENT FOR EVERYONE
> 
> JONTY ANGST FOR EVERYONE
> 
> the dark haired girl was Maya if you didn't catch onto that.
> 
> WHO ELSE WAS EMOTIONALLY DRAINED BY WEDNESDAY'S EPISODE????
> 
> okay so I couldn't write yesterday because I was out. I honestly don't know how often this fic is going to be updated. tomorrow maybe? I'm not sure.
> 
> so i'm thinking that this fic is mainly going to switch between Clarke and Octavia's POVs but I might throw in Raven or Bellamy or Lincoln once he gets introduced (remember, we had to wait half a season before linctavia was gifted to us by the 100 gods). 
> 
> songs I listened to for this fic:
> 
> "i found" amber run (thats literally it. on repeat for an hour. sorry)
> 
> xx heartlynes


	5. v. octavia

In the end, it was Clarke who rounded everyone up and drove them home in Jasper’s truck. Correction, she dropped Monty and Jasper off at their apartment and left the truck there. Jasper was all flushed cheeks and heart eyes from that girl he was with at the club, and Monty looked like he wanted to be anyone but himself. His normally joking demeanor plummeted into the ground, his body language closed off. He rested his head against the window in the backseat next to Octavia, staring out the window and not contributing to the conversation. He hadn’t spoken since she saw him trail behind Clarke as she corralled them into Jasper’s car. Octavia made a mental note to ask Clarke what that was all about.

 

Clarke. Clarke, Clarke, Clarke. The whole point of Octavia dragging her from her nest was to have her let loose and have fun. She was always hunched over a sketch or a textbook; the brunette assumed this was what being (forced) to double major in two completely different subjects did to you. Instead, she had downed two shots like a warrior and didn’t drink for the remainder of the night (“well someone has to drive,” she sighed). And now here they were, Octavia stumbling slightly in her converse and leaning against Clarke as they walked towards the direction of the bus that would take Octavia to her house. She sighed, looking down at her shoes. In another life, Octavia would be wearing heels, like the pair she had seen in Clarke’s closet (although she was positive the blonde never worn them).

 

But this was not another life so Octavia was headed to her shitty apartment, damn near shit faced, where her brother was about to yell at her because she was a. shit faced, b. seventeen, c. none of them were legally aloud to drink. Fuck. She stopped, her hand on Clarke’s shoulder pulling the blonde back a little.

 

“Hey so . . . thank you for driving them. And for coming out tonight. It means a lot.”

 

Clarke smiled. “Of course. Someone needed to supervise you guys.”

 

Octavia shook her head. “No, that’s not it. I wanted . . . I wanted you to have fun.” Her words slurred together slightly. She could not go to Bellamy like this.

 

“I can be fun,” Clarke frowned. Octavia sighed, changing the subject.

 

“Do you, I mean, can I . . .” Octavia wasn’t sure how to ask this of her friend (was she? I mean . . . she wanted her to be). “Could I stay at yours tonight. I can’t go home this drunk to Bellamy, he’d flip. And I could stay on the couch or-”

 

“Of course you could stay, Octavia,” Clarke laughed. “And don’t worry about the sofa. I normally crash on it anyway. I’m not tired yet.”

 

“We can have like a girls night,” Octavia squealed. They were too far from the bus stop that led towards Clarke’s place, so one cab ride and a text to Bellamy later, Octavia found herself on the better side of town for the second time that evening. She hadn’t really looked around the first time, so she seized the opportunity. Clarke’s apartment was on the second floor of a three story apartment building, though the high ceilings made up for that. They stepped into the living room, which was spacey with soft yellow walls. The kitchen had a small table in it with a few chairs, but it looked untouched; there were a few takeout boxes on the coffee table, next to a (surprise) textbook and a pile of pencils. Hurriedly, Clarke grabbed them and placed them in the trash under her sink.

 

The blonde looked at her guest, embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess.”

 

“It’s a nice place. How many bedrooms does it have? Three?”

 

“Two actually. They’re pretty big though. One of them is . . . out of commission.”

 

Octavia raised an eyebrow, expecting an answer. “Wait, I want to know why, but first things first. Do you keep m&ms, and if so, where?”

 

Clarke laughed. Octavia had an appetite for the chocolate candies like no other. If you had asked her what she would have her last meal on this Earth be, she would say m&ms within a heartbeat. How many times had they’d been almost kicked out of the library by the librarian because of her eating habits? Too many.

 

Clarke gave a tour of her hobbit hole as octavia ate the multicolored chocolates out of the king size bag by the handful. It was bigger than the one she had with Bellamy, two clean bathrooms instead of one that had peeling paint. The walls had pictures of family, friends. The walls at her apartment were bare and uninviting off white. The pictures were all framed, starting with Clarke as a young girl, covered in paint. A woman with Clarke’s frown was trying to wipe it off her face, while Clarke’s head was turned to the side bearing a huge grin. The next was a sixteen year old Clarke and a man with her eyes at a museum. She was talking to him and pointing at a painting, probably explaining who it was by and the significance of it.

 

Clarke opened the first room, which was hers. Octavia had already been in it that morning, so she didn’t really need to see it again. When the blonde flung open the door to the second, she could tell why it was out of commision. The floor was covered in blue tarp, the walls covered in single paper that stretched from the floor to the ceiling. The walls were covered in charcoal and pencil sketched of flowers, insects, scenery. One wall was covered in planets and constellations, so detailed that she had included everyone of Jupiter’s moons. Their names were labeled underneath them all.

 

There were a couple easils scattered throughout the room. A painting hung on one, the background already done. There was a space in the middle of it, the outline of someone laying down on the finely detailed grass. Clarke looked at it, cheeks hot.

 

“It’s not done yet,” she mumbled, gesturing at the painting. “It’s going to be Bellamy. We were supposed to sketch someone we didn’t know very well, but my professor decided to make it into a full fledged project.” Octavia nodded. Observing Clarke’s art through a slight layer of alcohol gave her a calm reaction to everything she was taking in.

 

“Dear God, that’s what he needs. Another ego boost.”

 

“This,” she said in reference to her art room, “is my studio. My safe place. You’re like the first one here.”

 

Octavia grinned. “Do I get to be initiated? Like in a secret club?”

 

Clarke thought about it, staring at a blank spot on her wall musingly. “Now that I think about it . . .” she took a piece of stray charcoal off the ground, sketching a couple quick stars onto the space. Under one she wrote ‘Clarke’, and beckoned Octavia forward. Reaching out, Octavia grabbed the black stick. The writing tool stained her fingertips black, reminding her of the smudges Clarke left on her tea cups. It explained a lot. Gently, as not to have the writing be sloppy, she wrote ‘Octavia’ under the star next to Clarke’s.

 

“There, now you are initiated.”

 

“I’ve never been in a club before . . .” Octavia trailed off. “Not even in high school. I wasn’t really . . . emotionally there enough to have friends.”

 

The confession surprised Octavia. “Is that a story for another day?” Clarke asked carefully. Octavia closed her eyes. She had only ever been this open with Bellamy. Not even Jasper and Monty knew the full details of her time in the system, or her life before (“first rule, don’t talk about fight club. second rule, don’t make me sad”) . She wanted someone who wasn’t her brother, someone who she wouldn’t kill a vibe of. She wanted to be friends with Clarke, and the first step is trust.

 

“No,” Octavia opened her eyes. “That’s a story for today. They all are.”

 

~

 

The two girls sat cross legged on Clarke’s bed with a bowl of m&ms between them. Clarke had changed into sweatpants and a loose tank, and Octavia borrowed shorts and a shirt. They were almost to big around the hips, and the brunette picked at the ends as they sat, waiting for someone to spill first.

 

“This is the first sleepover I’ve been to,” Octavia broke the silence. “I grew up in New York City. My mom had me when Bellamy was five, but . . . they weren’t well off. I only added to the equation. My dad took off when he found out she was pregnant with me, which left them with even less money. She worked minimum wage as a seamstress and slept with the fucking land lord for money,” she spat out the last part. She didn’t resent her mother, no. Her mom loved her and did everything she could for her children. She just wished it could be anything than those nights she hid in her room and could hear it happening in the other room.

 

“Anyway, I’m pretty much alive because of Bellamy. He did everything for me. Stole things for me on my birthday because we couldn’t pay for anything. Sacrificed friends so he could work whatever jobs he could handle so I could stop wearing shoes with three layers of tape around them. Everything. But when my mom got leukemia, we couldn’t pay the hospital bills.”

 

Clarke’s face went from shocked to horrified. “My mom had always been a drinker, but she drunk heavily after that. Got in screaming matches with my dad, who wasn’t there of course. She deteriorated in front of us, Clarke. She withered like fucking flowers. I was thrust into the foster system after she died when I was fourteen. I didn’t see Bell again until he got custody when I was sixteen. I completed my high school credits months later, got myself enrolled here and he transferred, and we left.”

 

“I’m guessing something happened in the system, Octavia,” Clarke whispered. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

 

“No, I want to let it all out. I haven’t talked about it with anyone but Bellamy and it’s killing me on the inside.” Octavia took a deep breath. “The first woman locked me in her basement two weeks in. She had this dog door that wasn’t big enough to climb through, she would push food in there. It was dark and it was cold and there was never enough food. I was there for two months until Social Services found out and took me away.”

 

Clarke had tears in her eyes and one hand covering her mouth. Octavia took another breath before continuing. “The next place had a son of their own, a year older than me. Bad boy type, you know? Anyway, I was there for almost a year before he was drunk and tried to kiss me. I said no, he pushed me into a wall and tried to kiss me. I said no, he kissed me. I punched him in the face, he blamed it on me. They locked me in a room for two days before returning me.”

 

“The next place had a bunch of foster kids who locked me in a closet until I had a panic attack. They thought something was wrong with me and no one really payed attention to me there after that. I was there for almost a year before Bellamy came in.”

 

Clarke pulled the girl into a hug. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

 

“I suppose that’s why I don’t have a major yet. I’m talented at being locked up, and you can’t really get a bachelors in that.”

 

“You’ll think of something, don’t worry.”

 

Octavia nodded. “What about you? You’re life isn’t a princess fairy tale, whatever Bellamy thinks.”

 

Clarke lifted and dropped one shoulder, eyes dropping to her hands as they pulled away from each other. “I don’t want to study Pre Med. My mom . . . works at Mayo Clinic. Super important, super prestigious. My dad was a successful engineer. I had my whole life focused on art. She never approved. When it was time for me to apply to colleges, she looked at me and said ‘you are going to be a doctor’. Mom of the year, right? I didn’t go to Harvard like she had planned. I chose a small school in an off the map town and was forced into Pre Med and Art.”

 

Octavia looked confused. “Why don’t you drop it? Isn’t your dad supportive.”

 

Clarke’s bottom lip trembled. “He was. At the end of my first year, I was driving with him. As he was driving, I was complaining about how I didn’t want to study medicine. I was stressed and sad all the time. He listened through the whole speech I had planned in my head before saying he was going to talk my mom into not being disappointed in me when I don’t go make for Pre Med this year . . . and then a semi came out of no where and crashed into his side of the car.”

 

Octavia watched as Clarke pulled the end of her top up. A thick scar ran from her hip to her ribs, slightly raised. The brunette gasped at the sight of it, cursing herself for not noticing the way Clark pulled her jacket around her in the club. She didn’t want anyone to see. “They said it was unlikely it would ever fade.”

 

Tears spilled out of both their eyes, and neither said a word. Octavia placed the bowl on the floor, and leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder. At the moment, it didn’t matter that Clarke had a nicer house than the brunette, or that Octavia had a worried brother to deal with in the morning. They were both hurting, they were both vulnerable in the moment. In the morning, they wouldn’t be vulnerable. But for now, they let themselves breathe for once.

 

~

 

Clarke didn’t really have any food in the way of breakfast besides toast and butter. So while Octavia tried not to burn the bread, Clarke made tea. The brunette wasn’t normally a tea kind of girl before ACU, but she had drunk enough of Clarke’s that she started mirroring her habits. Unlike Clarke, who drank it black, Octavia added milk and sugar. She rolled her eyes as Clarke guzzled the drink down.

 

“Tea is made to be sipped, not downed. This isn’t vodka,” Octavia had a slight headache, but she wasn’t as drunk as she was sure Jasper or Monty were going to be. Monty . . .

 

“Hey, what was up with Monty last night? You guys weren’t really there,” she questioned. Clarke stiffened for a moment before shooting her friend a sad smile.

 

“It’s not really my secret to tell.”

 

“What, that he’s in love with Jasper?” Octavia gauged the reaction on Clarke’s face. “Yeah. I saw it the moment I met them. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”

 

Clarke nodded. “He saw him with the girl last night. He had like ten shots before leaving. I sat with him and he started crying about how he loved him. I felt . . . useless.”

 

“You can’t help everybody, Clarke,” Octavia sighed, taking a bite of toast. Monty was very good about keeping his feelings to himself around people. He disguised them in tech savy rambling and hydroponic weed. It was heartbreaking, but she knew why he did it. Jasper was girl crazy, always trying to impress one or another. Monty sucked it up and played the wingman, and she didn’t blame him. They were best friends. At least he had that.

 

“I don’t have class today, but I have to get over to my place,” Octavia hopped off the counter. She grabbed her bag and changed into her jean shorts from the club. “Thank you so much for letting me crash here.”

 

“No problem. Anytime,” Clarke paused hesitantly. “Tavia?”

 

The girl hummed in response.

 

“Last night . . . let’s agree to not forget about it. It was important to get it off our chests. But let’s not treat each other differently. Neither of us want pity.”

 

Octavia nodded. “I never shared any of that with anyone outside of my family,” she paused for a moment. “I’m glad it was you.”

 

“I’m glad it was you, too.”

 

~

 

The bus ride back was long, and it was almost ten in the morning by the time she unlocked the door to her apartment. Bellamy was sitting on the sofa, and immediately stood up when she walked in the room. Mentally preparing herself for a lecture, she kicked off her shoes and hung up her bag. She was wearing Clarke’s shirt, the one she had loaned her to sleep in. It was slightly too big for her, white with horizontal black stripes.

 

“Where were you?”

 

“I told you, Clarke’s.”

 

“Before that,” he snapped. “You tell me you’re going out for a while with Monty and Jasper, and you don’t text me back until one in the morning that you’re staying at someone elses house. I was worried out of my mind!”

 

“A while and awhile are different things, Bellamy,” she matched his tone. “I told you I was going out. I told you I would call you if something happened. Nothing happened. I texted you that I wasn’t coming home. Is that not enough?”

 

“Where were you?”

 

“It’s not important!”

 

“Octavia.”

 

“We were at this place called _The Bunker_ , okay! It was fine!”

 

“You were at a club? God, Octavia! What were you thinking? You’re seventeen.”

 

“So? You were at clubs when you were seventeen.”

 

“That was different.”

 

“How? Because of mom?”

 

“Yes-No. No!”

 

“What, you think because of mom you get special treatment? I saw it too, Bell! I was thrown into stranger’s homes for two years after that! And if you hadn’t been so fucking selfish at one of those clubs, you would have been able to say goodbye instead of leaving me there with a dead woman!”

 

“This isn’t because of mom! It’s because I needed a break from you. I needed a break from you always asking everything of me because of the situation you got us into. Mom died because she couldn’t pay the bills with the money she spent on you. She’s dead, because you’re alive. She had a choice, I didn’t. My life ended the day you were born.”

 

Octavia jerked back, eyes filling with tears as she stared up at her brother. His jaw was clenched, his eyes were hard. There was no regret in what he said; he had meant every word. She whirled around, running into her room. The door slammed loudly with the force she used. Tears ran down her face as she pulled off the clothes she was wearing, putting on jeans and a tank top. She yanked her windbreaker on and zipped up her phone and keys in the pocket. Her face was wet with tears she didn’t realize she had shed as she swiftly exited her room and headed for the door.

 

“Octavia!” her brother caught her arm. She faced him, thinking for a moment he was going to apologize. “Where do you think you’re going?”

 

She shook her head in disbelief, eyes still stinging with tears. He was too pride for apologies. “You can’t keep me locked up forever.”

 

His grip loosened slightly, and he looked like he was about to say something, but she pushed him away and sprinted out the building, down three flights of stairs, and out of the building where it began to drizzle. She forgot she wasn’t wearing shoes, but she didn’t care. The sting of the cement against her feet was a welcome pain as she sprinted in an unknown direction. Years from now, when she looks back on today, she will wonder what would have happened if she had ran for Jasper and Monty, or Clarke, or Raven. She thought she was running away from pain, yet she had no idea that she had sealed her fate as she ran blindly forwards.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUNDUNDUN
> 
> plot has kicked off bitches. 
> 
> this was like 3k words damn
> 
> sorry I didn't update like I said i would this weekend. it was an emotional couple of days for me, as one of my best friends for four years moved to denmark. not updating tomorrow due to tears that will occur after the new episode (raise your hand if you've ever felt personally victimized by Mt. Weather), so thursday maybe? not making any promises sorry.
> 
> FUNNY STORY. I follow bellarkefanfiction on tumblr (which is like the command centre of fic recs) and BAM there this fic was. I kind of had to click the link a few times to make sure it wasn't another story. this story is receiving great reactions and i just aghhh. i love you all.
> 
> sorry i didn't fix the whole Jonty situation i'm putting you all through (stop hurting monty green 2k15) and yeah. that probably wont resolve itself for . . . a realllyyyyy long time. oops. 
> 
> xx heartlynes


	6. vi. clarke

Clarke was sitting indian style on the floor of her safe place, staring musingly down at the mixed paints in front of her. She had spent the last two hours mixing different shades of browns and tans. Her brow furrowed for the fifth time in the last ten minutes, staring down at the colour swirled in her pallette. It was too brown, not golden enough. Bellamy’s skin tone wasn’t caramel, wasn’t brown, wasn’t tan. It was some kind of blend of the three. She sighed, setting down her brush to run her hands through her hair.

 

What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t very well call up the object of her frustration, and not just because she didn’t have his number. He was infuriating, and not because she couldn’t get the color of his fucking skin right. He kept up the whole ‘princess’ routine that had begun to creep under her skin and pull the corners of her lip down. Was she upper class? Sure. Did she wanted to be alienated because of it? No. She spent most of her school year around the rich kids because no one else felt comfortable around her, however uncomfortable she felt around the rest of her suburban peers.

 

Abby had called her up three hours ago, a long while after Octavia left. This time it was a new topic, one that made Clarke wish that her mother would go back to her normal drawling on and on about the clinic. The blonde didn’t listen necessarily, just saying ‘no way’ and ‘oh’ in the right places, which seemed to convince her mother just fine. But today, she had answered the phone enthusiastically (something that immediately put Clarke on edge).

 

“Clarke, honey,” she had started, “when you come back home this winter I have someone I want you to meet!”

 

“Oh . . .” Clarke had been confused. “You’re . . . seeing someone again this soon?”

 

“Oh God no,” Abby had reassured. “Someone from work has a son, about your age. He’s studying to be a doctor as well. I was thinking you two would go on a date when you visit.”

 

The woman’s daughter froze. Her mouth was suddenly very dry, words caught in her throat and dragging their way back into her chest to crush her lungs. She couldn’t be serious, she could not be serious. Hadn’t she had enough? Was this life not going to be her own? The Earth seemed to open up beneath her and swallow her whole.

 

“Mom. I don’t-”

 

“Clarke. You’re doing this,” the older woman’s voice, once so enthusiastic, became so serious. “I already confirmed you were interested. You haven’t been on a date in . . . how long?”

 

“It’s not my priority mom,” Clarke snapped. “If you haven’t forgotten, I’m double majoring.”

 

“You will not speak to me like that,” her mother’s voice felt like a fresh slap. “I am your mother. I know what is best for you.”

 

The blonde swallowed, uttering a choked “fine” before hanging up. She would not cry because of her mother, not again. So she went to the one place she could go to relax. In hindsight that might not have been the most therapeutic method, because here she sat in front of a paint palette filled with a swirling vortex of nude, tan, golden, caramel, brown, and whites. Bellamy fucking Blake, what had possessed her to draw him? Because he is one fine model, a voice in her head chimed in. Right. Damn you, and your cheekbones and your jawline and your eyelashes and-

 

The bell to her apartment rang throughout the house. Clarke sighed, wiping her paint covered hands on her bare legs (she hated washing them on her clothes) before standing up and taking a moment to adjust her jean shorts. She flew down the hallway, passing the pictures of her father. She opened the door to her apartment without checking through the hole to see who it was. She wished she had.

 

Bellamy looked tragically out of place in the nice hallway. He had on a beat up shirt and jeans that had seen better days, and a jacket that looked like it had seen its fair share of winters. His hair was wet from the rain outside, the curls hanging in his eyes. She realized now that she should have used more caramel and tan and white, not brown. Maybe brown for his freckles.

 

“Look princess, I get that I’m one of those artists dreams, but this is important.”

 

Clarke snapped out of her reverie, bristling slightly out of reflex at the nickname. She stepped to the side, hating how small she felt next to him as he stepped into her flat. Suddenly aware of how she was in her wrinkled, paint splattered, ratty art clothes, she made a desperate attempt to smooth out the shirt she was wearing. Her hair was tied away from her clear face, and Clarke was sure that she had dark circles under her eyes. Mentally slapping herself, she chided herself for caring about what Octavia’s older brother thought of her. Pride caused her to speak first.

 

“How do you know where I live?”

 

“Octavia told me when she stayed last night. Have you seen her since then?,” his words were rushed, his eyes frantic.

 

“No. She left about . . .” she took her phone out of her pocket, clicking the home button. “Nine hours ago. Didn’t she stop by your place? That’s where she said she was going.”

 

Bellamy swore under his breath, bringing his hand up behind his head. “Yeah, she did. But we fought and she ran out and she wasn’t wearing shoes and-”

 

“You fought?” Clarke asked incredulously. She was used to Octavia rolling her eyes when Bellamy ruffled her hair, and her punching his arm affectionately. Not fighting. The older Blake sibling huffed.

 

“Someone was an only child.”

 

“Shut up. Did you check Monty or Jasper?” Her phone was out before she finished asking.

 

“No, I-”

 

“I’m on it,” she clicked Jasper’s contact and held the ringing device to her ear.

 

Jasper sounded slightly groggy on the other side. “Ayyyy Clarke? What’s up?”

 

“Is Octavia with you? I’m trying to contact her.”

 

“Nooo, she isn’t. Is everything okay?” Clarke sighed.

 

“For now, yeah. How you holding up?”

 

“Wicked hangover, but I’m curing that. Weed is so great, Clarke. Have I mentioned that?” He giggled on the other side. The blonde rolled her eyes, smiling slightly. Part of her wanted to slap him for Monty’s sake, but it wasn’t something you can simply bring up.

 

“Yeah, buddy. Like a million times. Hey, I have to go. I’ll call you back.”

 

“Fo sho, captain.”

 

Clarke hung up and sighed, turning to face Bellamy. He had begun to chew on his thumb. With a shake of her head, he groaned.

 

“Okay, let’s start at the beginning. When did she leave?”

 

“Eight hours ago.”

 

“Is this the first place you checked?”

 

“Yeah, I was about to . . . where are you going?” He followed her as she surged down the hall and into her room. He stood at the doorway, looking around but not entering before his eyes fell to her. She was tying on a pair of sneakers and pulling on a hoodie.

 

“No,” he deadpanned, realizing what she was doing.

 

“Yes.”

 

“You’re not coming. My sister, my responsibility,” the words seemed to hold more meaning for him, but Clarke thought this was no time to pry.

 

“She’s my bestfriend. You have a ride?”

 

He sighed, giving in. “Yeah. My truck just got fixed.”

 

“Good,” she grabbed his arm and lead him towards the door. “Let’s go.”

 

~

 

The truck was a beat up chevy. The green paint was chipping on the sides, the windows on the sides dirty. The rain was clearing them slightly, dragging the dust down with them. When she was a kid, she would watch two raindrops on the sides of her window and pretend they were racing. This was no time for racing raindrops. Clarke had finished calling Octavia for the third time, but it went straight to voicemail again.

 

The heating barely worked, though it was cranked all the way up on full blast. Clarke shivered through the thin top, goosebumps raising on her pale legs. She took no notice of them, or at least pretended not to, as her eyes raked the streets as they rolled past them. First was Jaha Java, as Bellamy was thinking “maybe she had run to Raven”. Whoever that was.

 

She ran behind him, hood over her head and hands stuffed into her pockets, into the warm shop. Clarke peeled her hood off, allowing her cheeks to redden at the sudden warmth. Bellamy’s eyes raked the cafe, not seeing any sign of Octavia. A girl with a red leather jacket and a black ponytail walked out of the back and towards the door before catching sight of him.

 

“This isn’t normally what girls expect from a first date, Blake,” she rolled her eyes. Clarke flushed.

 

“Oh, we’re not-”

 

“Raven,” Bellamy gritted his teeth, interrupting Clarke. “Has Octavia been in here today?”

 

The girl pursed her lips. “Nope. Why, the kid okay?”

 

Bellamy stiffened next to Clarke. “Just looking for her. Ran out eight hours ago. She shouldn’t be caught in this storm.”

 

The tough girl in front of them nodded. “Hope she’s okay. Tell me if you find her, okay? If you’re not here for your shift I’ll cover it for you.”

 

A sigh of relief. “Thank you,” he said gruffly before grabbing Clarke’s arm and practically dragging her back to the car, barely giving her time to throw her hood back on. She could feel Raven grinning at the two of them as they hurried back to the truck. The next stop was The Dropship Art Supplies, where they stumbled upon a very confused looking redhead. Bellamy hurried to the counter.

 

“Is my sister here?”

 

“Oh, you’re Octavia’s brother,” Roma (the nametag was printed big and bold) purred, leaning forward to give a full view of her cleavage. Clarke mentally gagged.

 

“Yeah. Have you seen her today? Is she here?”

 

Roma twirled a piece of hair around her finger. “No. You need to relax,” she set an arm on his bicep flirtatiously. “I can help you relax.”

 

Clarke was this close to puking when Bellamy jerked back. “Was she supposed to be working today?”

 

The ginger frowned, unamused by his rejection. “Yeah. She’s like an hour late.”

 

“Fuck!” Bellamy yelled before rushing past where Clarke stood to the car. He was close to driving away when she jumped in. He drove down the street in a blur.

 

“What now Bellamy?” He didn’t answer, glaring out the window. He was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles, the skin she had been working so hard to prefect, turned white. “Bellamy!”

 

“I don’t know!” he yelled. “I don’t fucking know! Call her again.”

 

Three rings. “Hi, you’ve reached Octavia. Leave a message.”

 

Bellamy yelled in blind anger. Clarke looked down at the consol, seeing he was going fifteen miles over the speed limit. “You need to slow down!”

 

“Like hell I do!” he yelled, not looking at her. The blonde’s hands shook, memories of the crash that had taken her father’s life, her mother’s compassion, and Clarke’s ability to form solid relationships rushing to her mind as fast as her companion was driving.

 

“Please slow down,” she pleaded, tears welling in her eyes. The scar on her waist itched slightly, but maybe it was her imagination. “Bellamy, slow down!”

 

The man looked at her, all shaky hands and tear filled eyes, and slowed down. Clarke sighed in relief. They were driving down a path that led to another part of town, trees on all sides. The darkness and rain made them look horrifying. Clarke could swear she saw something move now that they had slowed.

 

“Thank you.”

 

They sat in silence for a minute before the truck began to sputter. Bellamy cursed frantically, pulling over before the truck died. “No no no . . .” he whispered, slamming his hands against the steering wheel. “Fuck! Wick said it was good to go.”

 

Clarke didn’t ask who Wick was, all that she could focus on were her wet clothes and the fact that the car had taken the heat with it. She whipped out her phone, the light momentarily illuminating the dark car. “No signal.”

 

Bellamy moved to leave the car. Clarke grabbed his arm as he opened the side door. “What are you doing?”

 

“Finding signal. We have to keep looking.”

 

“It’s dark and storming outside. You’re going to fall into a ravine or get hypothermia,” she reasoned with him through chattering teeth. Anger washed over his face, but he removed his hand from the door either way. “Whatever you say, doc.”

 

“We’re going to have to wait out the rain. That could take a long time,” she said softly. He nodded. Clarke sat curled in her seat, before taking off her soaked hoodie and holding it in front of her.

 

“Can I lay this down?” Bellamy nodded, eyes raking over how little clothes she was wearing. The paint she had wiped on her thighs had washed down her legs.

 

“I was painting,” she explained when she noticed his gaze. “I wasn’t expecting to do all this.” Bellamy nodded curtly, wringing his hands together as Clarke placed her jacket on the dashboard.

 

“What did you say to her?” Clarke pried. “What made her run without her shoes?”

 

Bellamy tensed, clenched his jaw, closed his eyes. Clarke had begun to recognize it as something he did when he was upset. “Something she’ll never forgive me for.”

 

“Bellamy, she’s your sister. She’ll forgive-”

 

“I told her it was her fault our mom was dead, and that my life ended the day she was born, okay? Happy?” he snapped. “She won’t forgive me. Not now, not ever.”

 

“Bellamy . . .” the blonde trailed off slightly. What do you say to that? So many emotions ran through her: anger, disappointment, pity, curiosity.

 

“I know okay! I know. I just . . .” he ran his hands running through his hair. “I just can’t have that being the last thing I say to her.”

 

Clarke rose to her knees, taking his hands from his dark curls in hers. They dwarfed hers by comparison, his skin too gold for her pale complexion. He was warm, and she considered for a moment that he had trapped the sun under his skin.

 

“Listen to me. Octavia is not going to die. She’s a smart girl,” she kept eye contact with Bellamy, her blue eyes searing into his brown ones. “Hell, I wish I was that smart at seventeen. We’ll find her. We’ll go to the police if we can’t find her tomorrow.”

 

Bellamy was breathing heavily, but he managed to nod once and grip her hands tighter. He frowned, looking down at their clasped hands. Heat rushed through Clarke’s cheeks as she yanked her hands away, trying to ignore the ghost of them around her hands. She pretended she didn’t miss the warmth.

 

“You’re cold, princess.” It was a statement rather than a question. She paused for a moment, gave an uncertain nod. Her eyes widened as he unzipped his large beaten jacket.

 

“What are you-”

 

“Stop talking, princess,” he rolled his eyes, opening the coat all the way. “You’re freezing.”

 

This was so wrong. She couldn’t just crawl on her friend’s brother’s lap and make herself comfortable . . . could she? Clarke remembered how warm his hands had been, how warm the rest of him would feel. A blush creeped up her neck and on her chest as she crawled over the console to sit in between his legs, bare limbs curled up in a ball against his chest. Her head rested against his shoulder, and her blush got impossibly redder as he wrapped his arms (the ones she had been drawing not three days ago) around her middle.

 

The two of them sat like that, warm and safe from the storm. At one point, Clarke nodded off in the warmth of Bellamy’s arms. It took longer for him to sleep, thoughts alternating between his sister and the princess sleeping against his chest. Eventually, he leaned his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. Meanwhile, somewhere on the other side of the city, a large figure was carrying a small brunette in his tattoo ringed arms, coal coated eyes impervious to the raging storm.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here is bellarke for ya starved animals. also linctavia foreshadowing (fucking finally)
> 
> 2x11 was a rollercoaster from start to finish. clarke griffin is the new queen of hell. octavia is badass as fuck. I love how many badass women and badass poc women are on this show i s2g. i just want it to be next wednesday tbh. i honestly need abby griffin to stop acting like queen of the castle. she's not doing anything other than killing my vibe.
> 
> the question "how many chapters will this have" was posed. I honestly have no idea. how many it takes, I suppose. 
> 
> i fucking love you guys.
> 
> xx heartlynes


	7. vii. octavia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> octavia has, hands down, the most surreal tuesday I have ever seen.

Air escaped through her lungs as she ran street after street, barely resting in her lungs before evacuating again. Stop signs and street lights blurred into each other and before long she wasn’t checking the street names. Octavia was running so fast that the tears running out of her eyes trickled to her temples instead of down her cheeks.

 

_My life ended the day you were born._

 

Octavia knew, somewhere inside, that Bellamy didn’t really mean it. It was a learned habit for the both of them, something they tried to tell themselves they would never develop. Try as they did, if you spend so much time with someone screaming horrible things it becomes an ability that only comes out when you didn’t think you possessed it. Aurora Blake was a lovely woman, really she was. She was everything you could want from your mom, except for when she was drunk. Drunk Aurora meant tears, meant Gruss was in the apartment at three in the morning, meant there was one less plate in the house, meant yelling. Yelling, yelling, yelling, oh god it would stretch on for hours at a time. It would fill every corner and closet of the apartment, forcing Octavia under her bed until she hit her head on the wall. Bellamy would crawl under with her after he came home, though he was too big to fit and more often than not would get stuck. It was something to laugh about later.

 

Octavia was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t realized that she had slowed down to a walk. The rain had started to pour down harder, the sky growing darker as it came down at a steady pace. Fuck. She had forgotten which way she had came, how many corners she took, how many miles she had walked. Frightened, she span in a circle. This was a bad, bad idea.

 

“Okay,” she said to herself. “Let’s assess the situation.”

 

The street was empty, there were no people around. It was all cold, grey apartment buildings and garages. She spotted a storefront across the street, with a sign that had “Nyco’s Homeopathics” printed in white lettering across a brown banner. Unfortunately, the inside was dark. Octavia could make out the “CLOSED” sign from where she stood on the curb. On one hand, she could go inside the apartments and ask a lobby person for directions. Octavia thought is was a better idea to walk to find the street name. Confrontation was not her forte.

 

It took some walking, past a garage with tag signs graffitied on it. She could hear power tools go off behind it and despite the confirmation that the block wasn’t abandoned, it made Octavia walk even faster. She pushed the wet hair out of her face, the brown strands hitting soundly against the material of her windbreaker. Water trailed in tiny rivers down her shoulders and across her back before dispersing into tiny droplets. She came to an intersection after sometime, every which way looked almost the same. She was standing on the corner of 2nd and Memorial, and reached her hand up to touch the clay beads someone had tied around the street post. There were no streetlights, just a battered stop sign that someone had tagged. Octavia studied the tag carefully. It was the same one she had seen on the garage, and on the door of _Nyko’s Homeopathics._

It was done crudely in what appeared to be black sharpie, unlike the others which had been done in black or brown spray paint. It appeared to be a skull, a tribal pattern covering a symmetrical half of it. The other half had a G drawn on the upper corner of where the forehead would be. Underneath it were two crossing spears. Octavia looked at it more carefully, remembering Clarke’s words. _“They’re a gang, more of a tribe if you ask me, that makes up about a third of the city”._ Octavia snapped her head to look down 2nd street. All the shop fronts and buildings had it drawn somewhere. She looked the other way, just in time to see someone duck away from sight. _“They've had a history of violence with those who aren’t one of them, and you are a slip of a thing.”_

 

Grounders. Oh, she was so dead.

 

Octavia ran down second street, away from whoever was watching her. Oh, she was so so dead. What the fuck was she thinking, running blindly into the worse parts of town, into a dangerous gang inhabited ghetto, by herself? She didn’t even have shoes for fucks sake. The brunette pulled out her phone without stopping. Yeah, Bellamy was a dick to her but she was pretty sure she wasn’t getting out of this situation unscathed. She pressed the home button once, twice, three times.

 

“Fuck,” she whispered, visibly paling. She was so fucking dead. The rain fell harder, and she could hear footsteps behind her. Octavia stifled a gasp as a sharp pain hit her, a sharp object digging deeply into the ball of her right foot. She ran awkwardly, trying to keep on her toes, but it only slowed her down. The footsteps got closer, and she got slower, until her weight slipped forward from too much weight on her toes and she smacked her head onto the pavement. She was barely able to rise to her elbows, her head throbbing at the movement. She touched her forehead with two fingers, wincing at the stings, and her hand came away red.

 

Octavia stilled as she noticed two boots had come to rest in front of her. Fuck, she was dead. She could picture the headlines already, if they would even bother to make a headline. No, they probably would never find her body. Shit, she wasn’t ready to die. She was seventeen, for the love of whatever deity was out there. Slowly, she trained her eyes up from the boots, up a pair of ripped jeans, until finally she reached a face. He was looking at her through the rain, the day probably earlier than it looked. His head was tilted to the side as he regarded her blankly. Her vision blurred as she met his eyes, covered in what appeared to be paint. Everything went dark after that, Bellamy’s words echoing in her head.

 

_My life ended the day you were born._

~

 

Octavia had a dream, a recurring one that woke her up in the night covered in sweat. She was fourteen again, standing in the living room of her mother’s apartment. Her mother was sitting on the sofa, her back to her daughter. Octavia called out, but Aurora had no response. She was shouting from where she stood, immobile. Eventually, her mother turned around to face her. Her face was emotionless, devoid of recognition for her daughter. Octavia watched as her face changed slowly, eyes sinking into her head. Her cheeks hollowed, her mouth turned down. Aurora’s hair became stringy, a shaky hand raising to point at Octavia.

 

_“Slay the demon,”_ and she slumped to the side, out of sight. Finding herself able to move, Octavia rushed forward. Just as she got to the sofa, she collided with a cold door. She was in a basement, her breath clouding in front of her although she could not feel the cold. She could remember it though, god could she remember it. She slammed her palms against the wood, screaming to be let out.

 

“Shut up!” a voice screamed from behind the door. She slammed her palm against the door again, shoving all her weight against it. It happened in slow motion: the door gave away like a wave crashed against it, the hinges popping off the wall. The wood splintered slightly, but the now broken door became her liferaft as she floated at sea. The storm battled against her as she clung to the symbol of her imprisonment, watching objects float away from her. Amongst them were the bear that Bellamy had stolen for her, the American flag, a table, and a bottle of vodka. She reached out and grabbed the last one, and suddenly a wave crept up like the wall of China, a landmark she had only read about, and the sea swallowed her whole.

 

As she sunk further into the depths, like Alice into the rabbit hole, she heard Bellamy’s voice muffled by the the ocean. _“I won’t let anything happen to you, Octavia. **I promise**.”_

~

 

She woke up with a start, surprised by her surroundings. She was lying on a mattress, one without a bed frame, in a spacey room. Sketches were taped on the wall, pictures of trees and plants. A single window was slightly above her. It reminded her of Clarke’s safe place. Slowly, Octavia rose into a sitting position, the thin blanket falling away from her. She was devoid of her windbreaker, which set her on edge. This stranger had taken off her jacket and put her in his bed, and then . . left? Something didn’t add up. Using her good leg, she kicked the blanket off her legs and froze. There was a bandage wrapped carefully around her injured foot, and she noted musingly that she didn’t feel the sharp stinging pain. Carefully, she took hold of her leg and brought it to rest on her knee and undid the dressings. The jagged cut was clean and devoid of what must have been glass, which confused her to no end.

 

“He fixed it?” she muttered, more to herself than anything. She haphazardly redid the wrappings, tying the ends in a knot. Octavia swung her feet over the end of the mattress, the cold shooting through the soles of her blistered feet. It was a welcome sting. Outside the window, the sky had grown darker. The rain seem to fall heavier. She suspected it was night time. All the signs pointed to him not being a threat, but Octavia wasn’t taking any chances. Just because she didn’t wake up in a sex dungeon or a torture chamber doesn’t mean he didn’t have some impure intentions for her.

 

The door creaked when she opened it a crack, peering out into the living space. It was small, reminding Octavia of the place she and Bellamy first stayed in. There seemed to be only one bedroom, a small living area and a barely there kitchen. It all seemed empty. Hesitantly, she stepped out into the area, spotting her jacket laid out on the back of a chair. It was warm as she slipped it on, and she relished in it. The apartment did not seem to have heating; if it did, it wasn’t on. The kitchen was small, but she walked into it in search of anything she might need to defend herself. The paint on the cabinets was peeling, and the dishes were still piled in the sink. One of the drawers was left slightly open, which caught her eye. Her hands shook as she pulled it open. Inside were multiple types of mismatched silverware, and Octavia settled on a steak knife. It was small, and sat snug inside her zip up pocket.

 

The small walk to the door felt like an eternity of suspense, and the anticipation heightened when she placed her hand on the door knob. Octavia cursed as she twisted it every which way. It had been locked from the outside. She ran to the nearby window, pulling it open and crawling out of it. The fire escape was slippery and rickety and nine stories up, but it was her only chance. Steadily, she began her descent. The blinds on the next level window was closed, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Octavia continued down, yelping slightly when she slipped. Her head shot to the window next to her, relieved when nothing happened. She was suspended between the fifth and fourth floor, clinging onto the soaked ladder by her shaking hands. Once she regained her footing, she looked down the last few levels. Light and chatter was coming from the floor below her.

 

Octavia cursed silently, judging the distance between her and the floor. She really didn’t want to do this. It was a ways down, maybe thirty feet. The damage could be bad if she didn’t land right, broken arm or ankles or neck. She took a deep breath, climbing over the railing and balancing on her heels. Fortunately, there was an open dumpster below her, which could potentially break her fall if she aimed her fall right.

 

“I’m not afraid,” she breathed, and threw herself forward. Octavia squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the impact. She landed amongst trash bags, on her tailbone which was probably bruised but otherwise fine. The rain fell, running down her face and neck and arms. Octavia stared at the sky and let out a laugh. This is one hell of a tale to tell what future offspring she might have. The thought put her back into warrior mode. That was something she’d have to survive to do.

 

Octavia swung herself over the side of the dumpster, landing on her bare feet. She winced slightly realizing the bandages had peeled away sometime during her climb. Octavia walked slowly and close to the buildings, hoping no one would see her. She was on 2nd and TriKru, and Octavia mourned that she had no idea where she was. There were no bus stops she had seen, no way to get back home. She walked down TriKru, the way she thought she must have originally come. As she neared an alley, she heard someone struggling. Pressing her back to the wall, she craned her head to see what was happening. Two men had another pinned by the shoulders against a wall. They were all dreadlocks and tattoos, the one pinned had a scar going through his eye. He was snarling at someone, face twisted into a horrible sneer.

 

“Do it, bitch,” he spat. A tall woman stepped forward, flanked by another woman that Octavia recognized as Anya. Anya surged forward, holding an impressive knife to the man’s throat.

 

“You will not talk to your _Heda_ like that,” she spat in a venomous tone that Octavia had imagined her speaking the moment she saw her in _Dropship Art Supplies_. It made sense now, all the spray paint. The image of the skull was sprayed over the man’s head, probably the largest one she had seen so far.

 

“That’s enough, Anya,” the other woman stepped forward. She carried an air of superiority to her, something dangerous and powerful. Anya removed her knife, stepping back to stand behind the girl. Anya answered her, meaning that the girl- they called her a _Heda_ \- must be the leader. _Heda_. Leader. She wondered where they got that title from.

 

“Do it,” he spat. The girl pulled a machete seemingly out of nowhere, something Octavia had only seen before in shitty action movies that Bellamy would watch on Friday nights. The rain made everything more dramatic. The light glinted off the blade, temporarily blinding the brunette. There were many misfortunes that Octavia had witnessed. She saw a boy getting hit by his mother in a store. She had seen kids go to bed without eating for days. She had watched her mother crumple like wax paper, watched as the light slipped from her eyes. She had yet to see a man get a blade through his neck, the blood staining the symbol of his gang. But there were firsts for everything, and it seemed this was just as good a night as any.

 

Before she could scream, a hand clapped itself over her mouth and another around her waist. The man toppled to the ground of the alley lifelessly as she was pressed to the back of this stranger. The two women disappeared down the alley, followed by the men who had help the man in place for his execution. Octavia hyperventilated, staring at the dead man. The hole in his throat was clean, and dripped blood down his chest and into his clothes. The stranger released her, moving his hand from her mouth when he was certain she wouldn’t scream. _How did she not hear him walk up behind her?_

 

The same man from before turned her to look into his eyes. He searched hers, looking almost . . . concerned? The emotion disappeared as quickly as it appeared, and he slipped back into an emotionless mask. He had a strong jaw, and tattoos that curved over his ear. She blamed it on trauma and the fact that she had just realized how appealing this guy was when her hand reached out and traced the tattoo. The grounder flinched away, grabbing her hand to still her movement. She was limp in his grip, embarrassment flooding her cheeks. She mumbled an apology.

 

“Can you take me home?” she whispered helplessly. The grounder looked at her without emotion. The rain had turned into a storm, soaking her to the bone. Unsure if he heard her, she repeated her question louder. “Can you please take me home? I won’t tell anyone, though I doubt anything would happen.”

 

His eyes flashed with amusement at her pleas. He stood and turned to walk away. Hurriedly, Octavia scrambled to her feet. The cut had reopened, causing her to limp after the man who had saved her. If he hadn’t found her, her scream would have gotten her killed (she had no doubt in her mind about it. he didn’t either). “Is that a yes or a no?”

 

He paused, turning to face her. She limped to catch up to him, noticing her frown as he stared at her foot. “The bandages came off when I left,” she explained. It seemed she would do the talking in this relationship. Octavia thought it best not to explain how she left. He probably figured it out for himself, anyway.

 

The man surged forward, and Octavia took a frightened step back. They were like hunter and fawn, the two of them. He had the power to kill here with one move, and she was ready to run despite his unthreatening actions. He towered a good foot over her, so it was no surprise to her that he lifted her with ease. The shock came from him actually doing so. He had one arm under her knees, the other under her back. The term bridal style came forward from the back of her mind. She tried to ignore the way he could probably kill her with his hands, and buried her face against his shoulder. It was warm, the rain didn’t fall in her eyes, and she had just watched a man die. Sue her for wanting human contact.

 

“Thank you. You saved my life.”she asked after a while. There was no response. “Are you not going to talk?”

 

The man looked over at her, then stared straight ahead. Octavia nodded, more to herself than the grounder. It was silent until they got to the apartment building. He held her as they entered the elevator, and until they got to his door. He dropped her gently to her feet as he unlocked the door. He held the door open, but she only peered in. “Are you going to take me home?”

 

The conviction in which she said with surprised her. She guessed it was well deserved on her part. She had been told she was the reason her mother was dead, had her brother tell her she ruined his life, got lost in gang terratory, got kidnapped by a gang member, escaped through a fire escape, witnessed a murder, got her life saved by previously mentioned stranger, and was now back at his apartment. It had seemed like years since she was eating toast at Clarke’s house. Had it really only been this morning? Oh god, Bellamy and Clarke are probably worried out of their minds.

 

“My brother is probably looking for me,” she continued. “All I ask is a ride.”

 

The man stared at the brunette for a moment before nodding. “In the morning.”

 

It was the first words she had heard him speak since their first encounter, and the most rewarding. She nodded, releasing a breath that was caught in her lungs. “Thank you.” She ducked into his place, standing awkwardly as he closed the door behind him and turned on the lights. He leaned against the wall across from her, assessing her movements as she walked around the small apartment. She looked so small, shaking in his house. The grounder disappeared, leaving Octavia to her own devices. She sat down on the couch, eyeing the sketches before her, all done in charcoal. There were swirling patterns with names on the corners, animals, portraits of people. A tough looking woman with a facial tattoo and hard features staring outward. There were lines near her mouth, suggesting her age. Octavia felt the weight on the couch shift, and didn’t have to look to know who was next to her.

 

“They’re beautiful,” she commented. He grunted beside her, taking the portrait of the woman from her hands. He stacked the others on top of each other, putting the woman on top. Glancing between the drawing and the man, she noticed the way his eyes lingered on the drawing. “Is that your mom?”

 

The grounder looked down at Octavia, swallowing. The brunette watched the way his adam’s apple bobbed as he completed the action. Hesitantly, he nodded. Octavia smiled warmly, looking back down at the sketch. “That’s nice. She’s pretty. Tough, but pretty.”

 

Grounder man almost smiled as he nodded. Octavia smiled even more at that. “My mom was tough and pretty too. All moms are, I guess. Tough and pretty.”

 

She wasn’t looking at him, but he was probably nodding again. “You don’t talk much. It’s okay. I talk a lot.”

 

“I talk,” he said from beside her. “You are a stranger.”

 

“I’m in your house,” she pointed out. Her tone softened, became more confused. “Why are you helping me?”

 

He didn’t respond, but she didn’t care. She’d get him to talk eventually. Octavia shed her wet jacket, shivering slightly. The man placed a blanket around her bare shoulders, a gesture she was surprised by. As she looked at him, he quickly stood and nodded before disappearing into his room. Octavia moved to lay on her side, curling up under the blanket. A few tears escaped her eyes as she thought of everything she had went through. She would never be able to talk to anyone about what she saw, the man and the bloody hole in his throat. This was another thing to add to the list of childhood traumas. God, she was going to be a fucked up adult. She lay awake, unable to sleep, thinking about the way the one eyed guy died without protest, the man who saved her, and her brother. As dawn began to show, she finally was able to close her eyes- unsure if she should dread the morning or not. She wanted to pitch herself forward into Bellamy's arms and cry about everything, but she wasn't ready to forgive him. 

 

_My life ended the day you were born_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> start of linctavia???? 
> 
> well that took a good six hours and is still absolute shit. how the fuck do you even write this shit oh my god. i was able to write because i'm sick again. i may or may not write again tomorrow depending on how everything goes. 
> 
> so I'm going off this headcannon i found that Indra was Lincoln's mom. idk about it for the show but for the sake of this fic . . . also Lexa was semi introduced. 
> 
> so I know this doesn't really add up in terms of octavia reacting to any of this. she's in shock, I would be to, and she's alone in an apartment with a guy she doesn't know the name of. I wouldn't go seek comfort from him either.
> 
> NOTE: I changed the bio because I felt like it was too long and I wasn't really digging it and I felt like it offered things I didn't have. I like this one more, but hey if you come up with something exciting I'll use it.
> 
> some songs i listened to:  
> war - former vandal   
> awake my soul - mumphord and sons  
> the mighty fall - fall out boy ft. big sean  
> fantasy - ms mr  
> fire in the water - feist  
> devil's backbone - the civil wars
> 
> side note this has almost 100 kudos and 2000 hits i love you guys so much 
> 
> xx heartlynes

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this is my first fic on this site. I haven't written fic since the sixth grade so bare with me.


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